


Contrapposto and Collateral Damage

by TheLittleSongbird



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Keith (Voltron), Awkward Flirting, Figure Drawing, Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Grad Student Shiro, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Teacher's Assistant Shiro, background Allura/Lance, mature for later chapters?, the gang's all here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleSongbird/pseuds/TheLittleSongbird
Summary: Eyes the color of slate after a rainstorm. Hair the color of starlight, cropped short in the back and long in the front, haphazardly swept out of the rest of his face. A raised scar across the bridge of a nose, subtly bleeding into the high flush from the cold on his cheeks.Keith wanted to paint him.Keith bumps into the most beautiful man he's ever seen on the way to class. And then promptly loses his mind when he meets his figure-drawing model.





	Contrapposto and Collateral Damage

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this thing back in September, and then my company decided it didn't want to be a company anymore and shut down, so I wasn't able to write much for myself while looking for a new job. But the first chapter is finished and it's up! Victory!
> 
> I don't know what my upload schedule is going to be for this. Usually I try to stay ahead of what I post, but honestly, I haven't written past this first chapter just yet. So please bear with me, and I'll try to update as frequently as I can. Enjoy!

Lance’s first text woke him up, asking if he wanted him to save Keith a seat in the lecture hall.

Keith stared blearily at his phone, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes. Lance left for class without him? Lance decided to go to class _early?_ Keith scoffed at the thought. It wasn’t that Lance was a slacker, per se, but he definitely needed more convincing than most to get him to show up on time, let alone show up at all. Okay, maybe he _was_ a bit of a slacker.

Keith’s eyes focused on the corner of his phone, and his gut twisted.

No.

That couldn’t be the right time.

11:38.

“Shit!”

Keith vaulted out of bed, panic in his throat, and stumbled towards his dresser. He whipped out the first pair of jeans he saw and tugged them on, hopping across the room to the pile of dirty clothes at the foot of his bed. Checking a random shirt for any egregious body odor, he haphazardly tossed it over his head and rushed to the bathroom.

He was going to be late. He was _already_ late.

His advisor was going to murder him.

He had stayed too late at Kolivan’s last night. His bike had let out a dying sound on the ride back to the dorms, so Keith had pulled into his uncle’s shop and spent nearly three hours doing a full diagnostic check, only to find that he needed to replace the rotor. Which he had to special order.  Which meant he’d have to make do with the shitty college transportation services until then. By the time Keith had made it back to his dorm, cleaned the grease from his arms, and collapsed onto his twin size mattress, his clock had flashed 3:28am back at him. Lance’s snores rang out into the quiet of the room, reverberated through Keith’s bones like a chainsaw.

Just perfect.

Keith had grabbed his pillow and buried his head underneath it, desperately willing sleep to come and claim him. His next class wasn’t until 11:30 the next day, so at least there were small blessings in the world. He might even get to sleep in a bit.

Keith was wrong. So very wrong.

Shrugging into his leather jacket, Keith gathered up his charcoals and pencils scattered across the kitchen table and shoved them into his portfolio. He double checked his sketchbook and tugged his boots on. Everything would be fine. He’ll just blame it on the traffic. He can easily bike over to the art building in five minutes. The only thing he’ll really miss is going over the syllabus. Thace wouldn’t even start the actual lesson until an hour in. Keith had time. Everything would be fine. Keith raced down the steps of the dorm and out into the parking lot.

His bike was nowhere to be found. Panic reared its ugly head again. Someone took it. Someone jumped his bike and stole—

Oh.

Kolivan’s. The bike was at Kolivan’s.

“Shit.” Keith’s hand slid down his face. Okay. New plan. Keith turned on his heel and raced towards the bus station. It would add twenty minutes to his commute, but it would be fine. It wasn’t like he had begged his advisor to let him into this class after he missed the registration period (he had). It wasn’t like this was one of his requirements for his major or anything (it was). It wasn’t like he was put on disciplinary notice at the end of last semester for not attending classes (he was). It wasn’t like his actual literal advisor was teaching Figure Drawing 201 (he was), and would be supremely disappointed if Keith didn’t make the first lesson of the semester (he would).

Keith ran faster.

His boots splashed through the slop of melted snow and dirt from the street as Keith rounded the corner, the university bus rumbling idle at the end of the street. Relief flooded his system. He could make it to class with plenty of time before the session actually started. He’d explain his situation to Thace, and while his advisor would narrow his eyes at Keith and reprimand him for not taking his studies seriously, he would eventually concede the point. After all, Keith was the most talented of Thace’s students, even if he was somewhat of a “disciplinary case”.

The lights on the bus flashed yellow as its hydraulics began to lift it up to its normal height, preparing to leave.

“Hey!” Keith called out, picking up his pace, snow sludge flying in every direction, leaking into the tops of his boots, splashing onto his jeans. “Stop!” he yelled, but the bus was already pulling away from the curb, unable to hear Keith’s frantic shouts.

Keith slowed to a stop and watched the bus turn the corner; the cold air finally catching up with him after the burst of adrenaline fueled sprinting. He shivered under his thin leather jacket and tucked his portfolio more securely under his arm. He’ll have to walk to the Art building now. Great.

At least the walk would give him time to mentally prepare for the lecture about responsibility that Thace was probably already preparing. Keith let out a beleaguered sigh, his breath coiling in the cold air, and pivoted his feet to head towards the center of campus.

His heel slid across an icy patch on the sidewalk, and Keith only had half a moment to register what was happening before he was careening down towards the ground.

“Whoa, watch out!”

Keith braced himself for the impact with the concrete under him, but instead, his arm was caught in a steady grip, and Keith instinctively reached out in turn to hang onto the arms wrapped around him.

“You okay?” the student said, his voice deep and smooth. Keith blinked down at the offending ice patch, his brain catching up with the fact that he didn’t just break his tailbone, and turned back towards his savior.

Keith’s breath caught in his throat.

Eyes the color of slate after a rainstorm. Hair the color of starlight, cropped short in the back and long in the front, haphazardly swept out of the rest of his face. A raised scar across the bridge of a nose, subtly bleeding into the high flush from the cold on his cheeks.

Keith wanted to paint him.

The man’s lips were moving, and Keith imagined what it would be like to lean in closer and breath the same air as him. To run his fingers through the freshly buzzed undercut and melt into the strong arms holding him tight.

Grey eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, and in that instant Keith realized he missed the question.

“Sorry—what?” Keith asked.

The man smiled. “I said it’s lucky I caught you,” he said with a laugh, his eyes crinkling in the corners, “Didn’t want you to crush your portfolio.”

“My port – shit!” Keith leapt away from the mystery man and looked down to the snow banked along the sidewalk, where his art portfolio had fallen, thankfully unharmed. Keith scooped it up and shoved it back under his arm. “God, I’m already late for class, I can’t believe I nearly ate shit and destroyed… thank you so much, uh…”

“Shiro,” he said, a warm smile crossing his lips. He offered his hand, “Takashi Shirogane, actually. But everyone calls me Shiro.”

“Keith,” he took Shiro’s gloved hand gratefully. “I know it’s pretty rude of me to just bail, but I actually have to head to class now.”

“Right, hence the running and falling on ice bit,” Shiro teased lightly, and Keith felt he face heat.

“Yeah. That.”

Shiro shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He gave Keith a lopsided grin. “Why don’t I walk with you? Wouldn’t want you to give a repeat performance without someone there to catch you, y’know?”

If Keith were capable of flushing deeper that he just was, he would have. “Sure. I’m heading to the Art building. Is that okay?” He doesn’t remember seeing Shiro loitering anywhere near the Art building or hanging out with any of the art majors (and Keith would’ve _definitely_ noticed if he did), so he wasn’t sure why Shiro would mind detouring so far on campus.

But Shiro just smiled again, and Keith would give anything to always have that smile directed at him. “Yeah, that’s cool. I’m heading in that direction anyway.”

Shiro let Keith lead the way across campus, cutting across the snow-blanketed lawn towards the Student Union building.

“So. You a grad student?” Keith hedged, attempting to sound as casual as possible.

“Yeah. Aerospace Engineering.”

_Whoa._

“Whoa,” Keith whistled low, impressed. “So you’re looking to work for NASA or something?”

“Or something,” Keith watched Shiro shrug nonchalantly, the snow crunching underneath his boots as the two trudged forward.

God dammit, this guy was cool and attractive _and_ smart. If he wasn’t so damn nice on top of it, Keith would probably hate the guy. Keith hoisted his portfolio more securely under his arm and tried to shrug in return. “I’m Art. I mean… I’m _not_ ‘art’ like, art incarnate or anything like that. I mean I’m an art major. Obviously,” he waved his hand towards his portfolio.

“That’s really cool,” Shiro smiled again, genuinely interested. Or at least, acting like he was. “What’s your medium?”

Huh. Maybe he actually was interested. “I don’t really like to box myself into one thing, ya know? I mean, I’m mostly digital, because it’s convenient. But I like charcoal the best.”

Shiro nodded to himself, “Yeah, I get that -- not wanting to limit what you can do. You never know what you really like until you try it all, right?”

“Yeah. Exactly.” Keith ducked his head, allowing the hood of his jacket cover his flushed cheeks and the smile creeping onto his face.

They walked in companionable silence as the Art building loomed ahead of them, the brick walls cold and austere. Keith checked his watch -- 11:58. Still late, but he had another two and a half hours left to sit through. Hopefully that would be enough for Thace. He turned back to Shiro, who leaned casually against the railing of the front steps. God, he was so cool.

Keith jerked his thumb back at the Art building.

“So. This is me. Sorry to make you detour all this way.”

Shiro waved his hand in dismissal. “Nah. Don’t worry about it. I’m actually helping out one of my friends with a class she’s TA’ing. This wasn’t out of the way at all.” Another blinding smile. Keith could get lost in that smile, if only Shiro would give him the chance.

“Oh. Cool. That’s great.”

Silence fell as Keith stared at Shiro, mapping every single perfection in his perfect face. His hair was dusted in a fine layer of snow that seemed to twinkle in the sunlight like stars. Keith wondered vaguely what Shiro would look like at night, his face illuminated by the moonlight, the stars sparkling in his gray eyes as he mapped the universe. Would Shiro be more beautiful to paint under starlight? Or perhaps during Golden Hour, the warm sunlight bathing his tan skin in a heavenly glow.

“Keith?” Shiro raised a single brow. Keith felt his face heat up again. Oh god. How long was he standing there just staring at Shiro? He probably thought he was crazy. No, he _definitely_ thought he was crazy.

“Sorry. I’m still not totally functional,” Keith tried to cover. “I should go. I’ve got class.”

Shiro simply nodded and lifted two of his fingers to his temple in a salute. “Good luck. And watch your step, man. No more ice today, alright?”

Keith laughed, “Yeah. No more ice.” He waved awkwardly back to Shiro before spinning back on his heel and heading into the building.

 

\------

 

“ _Where the hell_ _were you?”_  Lance whisper yelled at Keith as he slunk into the seat next to him, pulling out his sketchbook and a box of pencils.

“Overslept. Don’t worry about it.” Keith rearranged the easel in front of him so that he could see the front of the room, where Thace was detailing the larger projects from the syllabus. The look Keith received from his advisor wouldn’t be what he would label a death glare so much as the look of a very disappointed uncle, which in Keith’s eyes was infinitely worse. Lance nudged him with his elbow.

“Overslept? Are you kidding me? I had to suffer through half an hour of Thace talking about shit _I don’t know about_. Do you know what the hell contrapposto is?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course I do.”

“Well _I_ don’t! Every time Thace mentioned some weird ass art term, I could feel his eyes boring into me, like he _knew_ I’m not good enough for this class or something.”

“He’s just pissed you waived the pre-reqs. And he doesn’t like gen-ed majors. Don’t worry about it.”

If Keith was being honest, he would agree with Thace’s assessment regarding Lance’s commitment to the class. It was true that Lance had waived the prerequisites to specifically take Figure Drawing 201, but his reasons behind taking the class in the first place were… questionable, at best. And self-centered and insulting at the worst.

“God, look at her. She’s so pretty,” Lance sighed dreamily to himself, watching the corner of the classroom with rapt attention. There, Allura shuffled a stack of syllabi together, placing them neatly into a manila folder. Lance leaned forward in his seat, watching Allura as she stood from the desk, pulling a purple silk robe from a hook on the wall and draping it over her arm.

Keith rolled his eyes. The only reason Lance was here was because he found out that Allura was TAing for Thace this semester. Lance had been crushing on the grad student for the past two years, and when he discovered that she was taking graduate courses in the same subject as Keith, he took it as a personal affront, accusing Keith of trying to steal the woman of his dreams. Nevermind the fact that Keith had zero interest in Allura, or any women in particular. Lance ignored all logic and declared his personal mission to win Allura’s hand by the end of his senior year. And taking Figure Drawing 201 was only the first of many steps in “Operation: Woo the Princess” (copyright by Lance McClain).

“I want her to step on me. She could punch me, and I’d thank her for it.” Lance mumbled, his voice soft and dreamy.

Keith scoffed. “I don’t think getting Allura to punch you is very good for your courtship plan.”

They watched as Allura strode over to Thace ( _“It’s like she floats,”_  whispered Lance) and spoke to the professor in a low voice. Thace nodded, and with a small smile, Allura left the room, robe in hand.

“Holy shit,” Lance whispered, his brow furrowing with worry, “you don’t think…. Keith, Allura left _with a robe._ ”

“Yeah?” Keith shrugged, adjusting his sketchbook against his easel.

“ _The_ robe _._ The one all the models use before they… get naked,” Lance hissed the last words as if they offended him, “Is Allura… going to be our first subject?!”

“I mean, maybe? I don’t know. She is the TA after all, I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if she was-- Lance, what are you doing?”

Lance had slunk deeper into his seat, his hands coming up to cover his tomato red face in embarrassment. “I can’t see Allura naked. It’s too soon. It’s too much of an invasion of her privacy. I won’t be able to recreate her perfection on paper. I’m gonna pop a boner in the middle of class and she’ll never talk to me ever again. I’m gonna be known as the gross guy who ogled at her in the nude for an hour and a half. WhatdoI _do?”_

Keith bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Lance’s personal crisis. “Look, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s an art class, there’s nothing sexual about it. And she’s probably used to people looking at her in this kind of environment. If you just keep calm about it, it’ll be fine.”

Lance looked back at Keith, his eyes wide with anxiety. “ _I’m going to die.”_

Keith _did_ laugh at that. “You’re not going to die. Just move your seat if you need to compose yourself. Focus on her back, that way she won’t see you panicking, and you won’t get uh… sexually frustrated.”

Lance nodded quickly, as if reassuring himself. “You’re right. You’re right. Just draw her back, it’ll be fine. It’ll be--”

The door to the classroom opened again, and Allura slipped back inside, leaning back against the door. She was in the same outfit she left in, but the robe was nowhere to be seen. Keith’s brow knotted in confusion.

“Now,” Thace’s voice rang out in the classroom, drawing Keith’s attention, “since we’ve gone over the syllabus in thorough detail, let us begin. Charcoal or soft pencils only please. Allura, if you’d like to bring our subject in--” Thace gestured to Allura, who nodded and opened the door once more.

Their first model stepped into the room, wrapped in the silk robe, tied tightly at the waist. The harsh fluorescents glinted off a metal prosthetic arm, and Keith froze, breath gone still as he caught sight of the steely eyes and starlight hair.

It was Shiro.


End file.
